


The Shape of You (One in a Million)

by HardNoctLife



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Ending, Angst, Canon Universe, Feelings, Fix-It, Gen, Light Angst, Noctis has FEELINGS, Short One Shot, Zegnautus Keep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-29 01:52:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19820089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HardNoctLife/pseuds/HardNoctLife
Summary: The real reunion we all wanted at Zegnautus Keep.





	The Shape of You (One in a Million)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MysteriousBean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MysteriousBean/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Zegnautus Keep](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/498877) by MysteriousBean. 



Noctis’s heartbeat matched the dizzying speed of his footsteps, Gladio and Ignis struggling to keep up. The prince didn’t speak as he cut through the daemons that seemed to lurk around every dark corner, identical hallways of metal and exposed wire rushing past him in a blur as he pressed through Zegnautus Keep, one goal in mind:

_Find Prompto._

Their shadows stretched long across the floor as they burst into the hanger, footsteps echoing metallically, and they finally stopped to catch their breaths, a sea of cylindrical containers stretching to fill the vast space. The eerie glow coming from the glass tanks was made all the more ominous due to the lack of lighting otherwise, and Noctis inhaled sharply as his vision came into focus.

Rows upon rows of well-known faces awaited, expressions slack in sleep—or death, but Noctis immediately shoved the thought away.

The unsettling feeling in his gut intensified as he dared to take small steps towards the containers, observing the naked bodies that floated within, familiar, and yet, strangers to him.

“What the hell is this…?” he barely heard Gladio’s hushed question over the drumming in his ears, nausea causing him to hesitate as he pressed one hand to the glass of a nearby tank.

“What can you see?” Ignis’s voice was strained, head tilting to listen. It was silent, save for their heavy breathing. Noctis was thankful Ignis couldn’t see what was in front of them. He wanted to spare him the image that would haunt his nightmares for years to come.

“There are—clones. Hundreds of them.” _They look like Prompto_ , he thought, but he couldn’t bring himself to say the words out loud.

“Magitek soldiers,” Gladio said quietly. He too, wouldn’t give any details, but Ignis was the prince’s advisor for a reason, and he _felt_ the tension filling the air, thick enough to drown in. He walked tentatively forward, hand falling to Noctis’s shoulder, a gesture meant to be comforting.

Noctis felt his lower lip tremble, but took a wavering inhale and set his jaw in determination.

“Prompto might be here.”

_But how will we know which one is him?_

The sudden fear that he wouldn’t be able to recognize his best friend from an army of copies seized him, and Noctis felt hot tears stinging his eyes.

“Gladio—help me look.” It wasn’t an order, even though it was phrased like one. It was a desperate plea.

_I can’t do this alone._

“I’ll go this way.” Gladio’s tone was rougher than usual, betraying his emotions. Noctis wasn’t the only one who was compromised.

Prompto was one of them—no matter _what_ Ardyn wanted them to believe, so they split up, Ignis trailing behind Noctis as he began to scour the room, studying every freckled, pale face he came across, looking for—

He didn’t know what, exactly, but _something_ that would set Prompto apart from the imitations.

Noctis lost count of how many bodies he examined, panic digging it’s claws deeper and deeper into his heart until he felt like it might burst from the pressure and pain. He was beginning to think it was hopeless when he stopped abruptly in front of one tank, eyes widening as he stared.

 _It’s him_.

He _knew_ , and at first, he couldn’t put it into words, but the longer he studied his friend, the easier it became to point out the little details.

The faded tan line from the wristband he wore every day.

A small scar across his chest, from a hunt gone wrong. They had to use a phoenix down that time. There had been a lot of blood, and they had all cried.

Freckles in a feather pattern along his inner thigh, something Noctis had traced late one night with his fingers between moans and whispered confessions.

The pink flush of his cheeks from an imbalance of too much sun and not enough sunscreen.

Toned muscles from running across open expanses and crawling through caves and climbing mountains.

Years of memories overwhelmed Noctis as he summoned his sword from the armiger. Ignis, recognizing the sound, drew near.

“Is it…?” he dared to sound hopeful.

“Yeah, I’m sure of it. Stand back, Iggy, there’s going to be a lot of glass.” With a nod, the prince’s advisor retreated, yelling out to where he could hear Gladio walking across the room.

“Gladio! He’s here!” The footsteps grew more rapid, Gladio approaching at a run as Noctis swung, putting all his strength behind the attack. When his blade connected with the tube, there was a satisfying “CRASH!” as glass shattered, following by a “WOOSH!” of liquid as it splashed onto the floor. Prompto’s body slumped forward, medical tubing and oxygen masks pulling free violently.

Gladio arrived just in time to help Noctis catch their friend’s limp form and lower it carefully onto the floor.

Noctis bit his lip to keep it from quivering, hands reaching to cup Prompto’s face.

There was movement beneath Prompto’s eyelids, and everyone held their breaths.

“Is he all right?” Ignis’s voice was strained, trying to give the others time to process even as he fought to maintain his composure.

“Prompto? Wake up, it’s me,” Noctis couldn’t keep his voice from breaking, breath hitching when his friend’s eyes fluttered open.

They were blue— _so_ blue, and Noctis’s heart soared when he gave the smallest of smiles.

“…guys? Am I…dreaming?” His gaze panned slowly over to where Gladio and Ignis hovered, disoriented.

“No—” Noctis repeated, more firmly, “No, it’s real. We’re here. We’ve got you.”

The smile deepened on Prompto’s face, and Noctis had to look away, barely keeping it together.

_Be strong—for his sake._

“…were you worried about me?” Prompto asked when Gladio and Ignis both knelt, sitting him upright.

“What sort of question is that?” Noctis blurted, shoulders tensing. “We were worried sick.” He wanted to say more, but he held back, giving Prompto the opportunity to respond. After a few moments, he did, voice worn thin with exhaustion.

“Of course…that’s why you came. Like I believed you would. That’s why—I told myself I couldn’t die, not until I could see you and hear you tell me that I’m not a fake.” He looked between the three of them. “And hear you tell me that I’m the real me.”

Noctis couldn’t contain himself any longer—he threw both of his arms around Prompto and yanked him tight to his chest, crushing him in an embrace.

“I’m sorry—I’m _so_ sorry, Prompto. All this time, you must have thought—” his words were lost in a strangled cry. “I fell right into Ardyn’s trap.” Anger mingled with the prince’s concern, voice hardening. “I hurt you, and I won’t ever forgive myself for that.”

“You’re not the only one who fell for it,” Prompto admitted softly, arms slowly lifting to return Noctis’s affections. He curled his fingers into the back of Noctis’s shirt and inhaled the scent of him, throat tightening. “The code printed on my wrist—it’s because I was meant to be an MT. As it turns out, I’m one of them. I just hope…that things can stay the way they were.”

Noctis pressed his face into Prompto’s shoulder, smothering a sob.

He felt two other heads press against his own, arms wrapping around him and Prompto before squeezing tightly.

The body heat soothed the ache in his heart, bringing to mind visions of winding roads, the Lucian sun high over a horizon teeming with possibilities. There were echoes of laughter, memories of long nights that turned into mornings, immortalized in a photo album kept in the Regalia’s dash. He inhaled one deep breath, recalling how he smelled the air tinged with salt and heard waves crashing on the shore, fishing rod in hand as Prompto sat beside him on a lonely pier, bare feet dangling over crystal clear water.

He felt, in his arms, that he was home.

“It doesn’t matter where you came from, Prompto—I love you—and as long as we’re alive, I’ll stand by you.”

Prompto, through the tangle of hair and hands, murmured softly against his prince’s cheek.

“Ever at your side.” 


End file.
